Rainbow Dash is accepted as a Wonderbolt, but a face from the past sparks an unhealthy obsession
After a year of strict training Rainbow Dash is accepted onto the Wonderbolts, and at last her dreams are coming true. But an encounter with a face from the past sparks an obsession that leads her to confront the roots of her ambition, and puts her relationships with her oldest friend and her idol to the test.
Bold Heart, Nimble Wings. For almost as long as she could remember those had been her watchwords. They had guided her and driven her, taking her from a childhood in the sleepy suburbs of Cloudsdale to the very pinnacle of any ambitious pegasus’s flying career. “Bold Heart, Nimble Wings”: just words on a Wonderbolts poster to most ponies, but to a wide-eyed filly still reeling from watching Equestria’s finest aerial display team perform they became talismans. So many times she had lain awake at night, staring at that poster and picturing herself as one of the figures on it, clad in the Wonderbolts’ blue and yellow flight suit, her rainbow mane and tail streaming in the wind. Sometimes, she fancied she could almost hear the crowds chanting for her: “Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash!”
“Rainbow Dash!” came an impatient bark, jolting the daydreaming pegasus out of her reverie. “Come on, you’re up next!” The voice belonged to Spitfire, the captain of the Wonderbolts. She glared sternly at the last of the five lucky pegasi who had made it to the final round of this year’s tryouts. Rainbow Dash felt every hair on her body stand on end, bristling against the fabric of her flight suit. She swallowed, her heart pounding in her throat, and stepped forward. For a moment she thought Spitfire was genuinely annoyed, but the captain, pretending to consult her clipboard, looked up at her through the fringe of her fire-coloured mane and shot her a wink. “You can do it,” she whispered.
That was enough for Rainbow Dash, just knowing her idol was on her side. Spitfire had been a rookie member when Dash had seen her first show as a little filly. She had waited for nearly an hour to get an autograph afterwards, her mother carrying her on her back when she almost fell asleep in the queue, then in a fleeting moment — a hoofshake, the flash of a camera, a few words exchanged over the hubbub — a lifetime’s ambition was set in motion. It was Spitfire’s hoofprint that graced the poster on her bedroom wall. Rainbow Dash smiled warmly at the memory, feeling her nervousness dissipate like a spent rain cloud.
Clearing her mind, she drew a deep breath and unfurled her wings. For a moment she held the pose, eyes shut, wings spread, feeling the gentle tug of the breeze through her sky-blue feathers, then she braced her hooves against the cloud on which she stood and sprang into the air.
The Canterlot aerodrome spun gently below her as she circled to gain height, her mind already running through the routine. Inside loop... vertical climb... stall turn... No showing off this time, not for a Wonderbolts tryout. Only a tight, faultless routine would pass muster. Trottingham bunt... double roll... That had been her mistake before; the Wonderbolts were about more than mere spectacle, and for all the times she had impressed them with her wild and sometimes dangerous stunts, what they needed from a recruit was discipline and control. This was her second tryout, and only after her first rejection had the advice sunk in. Medley half-loop... barrel roll... Bold heart, nimble wings; that was what it was supposed to take to be a Wonderbolt. Dash had found it took so much more: diligent study, a punishing fitness regime, and a degree of focus and concentration beyond anything she’d had to maintain before. Griffon turn... up and into a tailslide... She held the routine in her mind’s eye as an intricate pattern of lines and forces floating above the arena, delicate as spun glass. Everything felt perfect — cloudless sky, light breeze, her head clear, her wings strong and limber. A whistle blew, and with the confidence a year of strict rehearsals brought, she swept into her first loop.
In the reading room of the library in Ponyville, a small purple dragon was woken from his nap by a familiar rumble in his stomach which erupted as a thunderous belch. The gout of green fire that accompanied it wavered in the air for a moment and coalesced into a paper scroll, which landed in his lap.
The yellow pegasus who had been engrossed in a copy of Fluttering Heights at a nearby table trotted over.
“Oh, Spike,” she said, nervously wringing her pink mane, “do you think that’s...?”
“It has to be,” the dragon replied. “Look, it’s just addressed ‘To my friends’. Do you want to open it, Fluttershy?”
“I think Twilight should be here too.”
Spike jogged over to the foot of the staircase and called up. “Twilight! It’s here!”
From upstairs came the clatter of hooves, followed by a heavy thud and a strangled yelp of pain. The dragon sighed, plodded over to a chest tucked under one of the bookshelves and lifted out a towel. Down the staircase, limping slightly as she went, came a unicorn with her indigo mane slathered in shampoo and water drizzling from her lavender coat into puddles on the stairs.
“Oh, thank you Spike,” she said. Her horn glowed for a moment, the towel lifted out of the dragon’s hand and wrapped itself neatly around her head. “Quick, what does it say?”
Spike ran a trembling claw across the wax seal and unfurled the paper. His eyes widened and he clasped a hand across his mouth. He turned the scroll so Twilight and Fluttershy could read it. On it were scrawled just three words in shaky writing, the ink blotchy in a few spots. They read: ‘I did it!’
A noise escaped Fluttershy’s mouth that was part squeal, part sob. “Oh, I’m so happy for her!” she said, her voice thick and tremulous.
“Everyone else has to know!” said Twilight. “Spike, can you write up some message scrolls, please? Fluttershy, will you wake Owloysius and ask him to deliver them? We’ve got a party to plan! Ooh, that reminds me — put in that special order to Sugarcube Corner with Pinkie’s note. And train tickets! I’ll go to the station myself and book them in advance just to be sure. Where are my saddlebags?” She trotted back and forth as she tried simultaneously to contain her excitement and to sort out a head filling with new plans.
“You might want to make yourself decent first,” said Spike, pointing to the window where a couple of curious passers-by were peering in with bemusement at the sight of a sodden, soap-covered unicorn prancing about the library.
“Um... of course,” said Twilight, blushing as she noticed the puddles of soapy water left in her wake. She drew the curtains. “I’ll just...”
“I’ll get the mop,” said Spike flatly.
Fluttershy glanced at the scrawled note again. “Good for you, Rainbow Dash,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “Good for you!”
The aerodrome was situated in a secluded mountain pasture outside Canterlot, tucked away around the mountainside so only the tips of the city’s tallest towers were visible. Long ago it had been a bustling airfield where balloons and dirigibles had once swarmed in and out like a hive of huge and colourful bees, but after a new airdock was built nearer the city it had fallen into disuse. Now it was just a broad arc of grassland bounded on its north edge by steep cliffs rising to the snow-capped peaks above and looking out over the rolling plains of Equestria far below. The aprons where the airships had once docked and the gravel paths that criss-crossed the meadow were now mostly hidden under grass and wildflowers. At one end of the pasture there was a neat rectangle of clear ground bordered by flagpoles flying bright red pennants that flapped in the breeze. In the cliff-face was a tunnel, the only way to reach the pasture except by air, and around its entrance was a cluster of tidy stone buildings — a guard house, a small dormitory, changing rooms and offices. It was the perfect spot for the Wonderbolts’ training grounds; airy yet secluded, sheltered by the mountains on one side but wide open on the other, like an amphitheatre set up to host performances for the world.
If the aerodrome was a theatre, Spitfire was its star performer. She strode along the assembled line of pegasi, chest puffed out, and spoke in a voice that rang clearly over the training grounds.
“Good morning, team!” she said. “Now, I’m sure you’ve all heard about her already, some of us know her quite well, but I’d like to formally welcome our newest recruit, Rainbow Dash.”
The line of blue and yellow-clad pegasi stomped their front hooves in applause. Rainbow Dash felt a hot blush spreading across her cheeks, and was glad for the hood of her flight suit covering her face. She chided herself; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t interacted with the Wonderbolts before. She’d hung out with them at the Grand Galloping Gala a few years earlier, caught Spitfire’s eye as a potential recruit when she led the waterspout operation in Ponyville, even saved the lives of Spitfire and two of her fellow team members after an accident at the Best Young Fliers competition. She wasn’t among strangers here. She had been selected out of dozens of applicants as the sole pegasus worthy of joining the team. So why did she suddenly feel so out of her depth?
“Alright, settle down,” Spitfire said at last. “Now, we have our first display of the season one week from today, so that means we need to train extra-hard. Two team members retired at the end of the last season, and another left over the break for personal reasons, which leaves us short on numbers. That means Rainbow Dash will be on first reserve. I know,” she added sternly as a low murmur struck up between several of the older members, “we don’t normally put a rookie in that position, but my hooves are tied. Need I remind some of you that I started on first reserve? Rainbow Dash is a very capable flier, and I would not have selected her if I didn’t believe she could meet our expectations.”
Dash shifted her hooves a little. She wanted to see who had been murmuring, but resisted the temptation to glance around.
“Now, I’m sure you’ve heard enough of my gabbing. Warm up, ten minutes. Lightning!” Spitfire was addressing one of the murmurers. “Take Rainbow Dash through the warm-up routine. Flap to it, everypony!”
The line-up scattered to start their exercises, leaving Rainbow Dash with Lightning, a pale blue stallion with a swept-back mane of orange and yellow, and one of the older members of the team. He nodded curtly and spoke in a low rumble: “Wing rotation first, like so.” He extended both his wings and swept them around in wide, lazy circles. Rainbow did likewise, smiling awkwardly as Lightning returned a steady, inscrutable gaze.
As the morning wore on, Dash began to settle into the training. They started on solo manoeuvres, the very things she had been practicing diligently for the past year. Her fellow Wonderbolts (she had almost squealed with delight the first time that had crossed her mind — fellow Wonderbolts!) were skilled beyond her expectations, and it was a pleasure to see them up-close. She relished the challenge of matching them, the sense that she was once again pushing her own envelope reminding her of how it felt a year ago when she first started taking her own training seriously. The exhilaration of being here, of having her abilities challenged by her heroes, spread a broad, satisfied grin across her face.
By the afternoon, that grin was threatening to turn into a grimace. They had moved onto formations, a style of flying Rainbow Dash was wholly unfamiliar with. Back in school she had, after much cajoling from a classmate, done one week of wing-ballet classes. She had hated every moment of it. That was as close as she had been to any kind of synchronised performance with other pegasi.
They had started out with a simple formation, the Swan, nine Wonderbolts flying closely in the rough shape of the bird, three in a line making up the ‘neck’, the remaining six in a ‘V’ shape behind them as the ‘wings’. Dash was the trailing flier on the left ‘wing’. Flying with the formation level was simple enough — she just had to keep Fleetfoot, the pegasus ahead of her, at a fixed point in her vision. It was when the whole Swan had to turn as one that she faltered, breaking formation as she struggled to adjust her own position relative to the rest of the group. On the third try Spitfire suggested she fly above the group while they performed it and observe. Puttering about on the outskirts only made Dash feel like an interloper, the feeble little rookie who couldn’t keep up. A hot brand of shame sizzled inside her head, and in frustration she bucked her hind legs at nearby cloud, knocking a puffy divot out of it. Spitfire broke out of the formation and flew up to meet her.
“Easy, Dash,” she said. “Nopony expects you to get it right the first time.”
“Now that’s enough.” Spitfire fixed her with a steely glare. “This is not how a Wonderbolt behaves. We don’t train just to show off to each other. And we certainly don’t lose our tempers just because we come up against an obstacle. We’re a team, and that means we support each other.”
Rainbow Dash sagged. It was like being back in school again, the teacher berating her while she scuffed her hooves and refused to look them in the eye.
“Now, what’s giving you the most difficulty?” said Spitfire, her voice softer again.
“I can’t concentrate on what eight other pegasi are doing all at once,” said Rainbow Dash. “It’s hard enough just watching what I’m doing!”
“You don’t need to watch everypony. You just need to watch the pony in front of you, and ignore everything else. If we all do that, the formation holds together naturally. Come on, we’ll give it one more run-through and then move on.”
The remainder of the afternoon was a series of ups and downs for Rainbow Dash. She was getting the hang of focussing her attention only where it was needed, but doing that and still reacting quickly enough was difficult, which made her part of the formation look sloppy. For every success she had, another more taxing challenge came on its heels. It was exhausting, both mentally and physically, and as the sun began to set she was glad to hear the sound of Spitfire’s whistle bringing the team to attention.
“Okay, good show today everypony!” said Spitfire. “Mostly the basics, I know, but it’s as important as the flashy stuff. Speaking of which, why don’t we round off the session with a run-through of the Bluebell Break? I’m sure our newest member will get a kick out of it!”
Rainbow Dash beamed. It was one of the Wonderbolts’ signature moves, a spectacular formation where the whole team flew two lines abreast, wings almost touching, then splayed out in different directions. She remembered seeing them perform it in the very first display she watched, and many more times since. In a real performance they would be trailing smoke, scoring a pattern like a gigantic dandelion seed across the sky. There were no smoke trails in basic training, but it was thrilling nonetheless. The chance to perform it herself made all the hardships of the day worth it.
Spitfire took her aside for a moment to run through the manoeuvre. Dash’s role was simple enough: she would be on the outside, and as the formation broke she would roll left and peel away from the rest of the group.
“Okay, form up!” said Spitfire. “Soarin, you take the lead, I’ll be in position 3 alongside Dash. East-West at half-speed and break on my command.”
The team flapped into formation then swung around in a wide arc to begin the manoeuvre. Dash glanced over at Spitfire, watching her fiery mane streaming behind her and the setting sun flashing off her goggles. She’d swapped her usual position at the head of the formation, and the only reason Dash could think of was so she would be closest to her. She had to admire Spitfire’s leadership — this simple act had given her confidence a much-needed boost. Here she was, training side-by-side with the member of the Wonderbolts she knew best.
The formation swept over the training grounds, steady and level, every flier in perfect position, then Spitfire gave her command: “Break, break, GO!”
There was a flash of orange and blue at the edge of Dash’s vision, and her instinct to dodge almost overpowered her concentration on the manoeuvre, making her freeze. She flared her wings and shuddered to a halt in mid air. Ahead of her the formation completed the break, each member sweeping out in a graceful half-loop. Spitfire flew out of her loop early and flapped over to where Rainbow Dash hovered in bewilderment.
“You okay, Dash?” she said. “What happened?”
“I dunno, I just... froze,” said Rainbow Dash. She was acutely aware she was breathing rapidly, her chest heaving, and she avoided meeting Spitfire’s concerned gaze.
“That’s okay, I understand. These manoeuvres can be a little disorientating, and it’s been a long day. Come down for debriefing, then get some rest.” She placed a hoof on Dash’s shoulder. “You make sure you unwind properly this evening. If you dwell on every little mistake you’ll drive yourself up the wall. Trust me, you’re doing fine.”
Rainbow Dash accompanied her back to the ground in silence. She barely listened to Spitfire’s debrief, feeling small and meek while the other Wonderbolts around her suddenly seemed so accomplished and mature.
As the team trooped back to the dressing room, Lightning trotted up alongside her.
“Nice work out there today,” he said gruffly.
Dash gave him a sideways glance, examining him for any sign of sarcasm, but there was none — his expression was genuine, his tone honest.
“Thanks,” she said. The frown she had been wearing since she failed the Bluebell Break melted away. Reassurance from Spitfire was one thing, but coming from another Wonderbolt whom she didn’t know so well it carried a different weight. She had already convinced herself the rest of the team saw her as an upstart, still the same flighty young pegasus she had always been.
The little kernel of optimism Lightning’s remark had planted took root as she reminded herself that her friends from Ponyville were visiting tomorrow. It felt like an eternity since she had seen them, despite them all seeing her off to her tryout just three days earlier, and her heart swelled at the thought of it. She reminded herself how lucky she was to be here. She was following her dream, she had good friends to support her and teammates who respected her, and she couldn’t have wished for a better mentor in Spitfire. Everything was going to be all right. She even caught herself humming the anthem from her time in the Junior Speedsters in the shower and chuckled to herself. ‘Junior Speedsters, it’s our quest to someday be the very best...’
The door to the Canterlot Crêperie jangled open and a group of ponies (and one dragon) bustled in out of the rain. Rainbow Dash, her nose buried in her operational procedures manual, didn’t notice her friends from Ponyville until they were almost at her table, and then only when the pink puffy-maned earth pony piped up.
“Rainbow Da~ash!” sang Pinkie Pie.
Dash jolted, upsetting her coffee cup and splashing the pages of her manual. She blurted out a curse and reached for a napkin.
“We didn’t mean to startle you,” said Fluttershy.
Rainbow Dash shook herself, still a little bewildered at their sudden presence. “Sorry, Fluttershy,” she said, noticing her friend blushing at her uncharacteristic outburst. “Y-You must have crept in or something!”
“We didn’t creep into the crêperie, Dashie!” said Pinkie Pie. “Crêperie creeping should be a crime. Hey, can I have that cranberry and cream cruller?” She helped herself to a pastry from the tray Dash had ordered earlier but left untouched.
“Here, let me clean that up for you,” said Twilight, levitating the soggy book out of her friend’s grasp and mopping at it with a napkin.
Rainbow Dash’s face relaxed into a languid smile and she rubbed at her weary eyes. If there was one thing she could count on to remain a constant, it was her friends. Here was Pinkie, as carefree as ever. Here was Twilight fussing over her like a mother hen. Here was Fluttershy, her oldest and closest friend, and making their way to her table, Applejack, Rarity and Spike.
“Hey, there’s our little Wonderbolt!” said Spike. “How are you doing?”
“Hi guys,” said Rainbow Dash. “I’m doing great.” She grabbed her manual to make room at the table and stuffed it into the saddlebag at her feet.
“My goodness, have you seen that rain?” said Rarity. “Have the Wonderbolts been punching holes in the sky or something? Oh, hold still Applejack, you’re absolutely drenched!” She was trying to dab at the earth pony’s orange coat with a towel.
“It’s just water,” said Applejack. “Don’t make such a fuss!”
“Well, I warned you to pack your cape. I had Twilight put a water-resistance charm on it and everything, and you never wear it!”
Dash sniggered. Even after a long journey in inclement weather, Rarity had still managed to keep her white coat gleaming and her purple mane and tail impeccably coiffed where everyone else looked at least a little bedraggled. Some things never changed.
“I don’t know what you’re laughing at,” Rarity went on. “Look at the state of your mane! Have you been brushing it with a twig or something? Come here...” The unicorn sat herself at Dash’s shoulder, took out a stiff mane brush and began untangling the multi-coloured mess of hair. Ordinarily Dash would have protested; she hadn’t let anyone groom her for years, insisting on doing it herself, but she was tired and she found the sensation soothing.
“How are you finding the training?” asked Fluttershy.
Dash furrowed her brow. It had been another difficult day, and while she was starting to get used to formation flying, the challenges just kept on stacking up. Despite being the reserve flier, she still had to know the ins and outs of air show procedures in time for the first display, and that meant wading through a stodgy, jargon-filled manual as thick as her own hoof. To cap it all, the Canterlot weather team had been rolling out clouds the whole day ready for an urgent overnight downpour, and flying under that bleak grey sky felt dull and unsatisfying. Back in Ponyville, days like this were once a time to be lazy, to read and take long naps (longer than usual, anyway), to hang out at Fluttershy’s cottage or Sugarcube Corner.
Fluttershy noticed the faraway look in her friend’s eyes. “Rainbow Dash?”
“It’s going okay, I suppose. It’s pretty hard work, but — ow! Take it easy, Rarity!” she said as a particularly bad tangle caught in the brush. “But here I am, living the dream!”
“So when’s your first show? Is it true you’re gonna be performin’ in Ponyville soon?” asked Applejack.
“Ah, the secret’s out! Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise appearance at the Spring Has Sprung festival next Monday. Mostly a publicity thing, really — autographs, hoof-shakes, that kind of thing, with a short display for the crowds. But I’m only a reserve flier. Right now, I just step in if somepony can’t perform.”
“Are you gonna—” Pinkie Pie began through a mouthful of pastry, but Dash cut her off.
“So, how are things in Ponyville? What’s the news?”
She listened while the others recounted the goings-on back home, the small-town gossip, the little day-to-day adventures. They laughed and joked together, and ordered elaborate crêpes and drank steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Twilight held an impromptu lecture about the reason for the Spring Has Sprung festival, the vernal equinox, using plates and cups to illustrate the planet and sun, until Spike put her in a huff by snoring theatrically (to laughter all around). Pinkie related heartwarming tales of how the Cake twins, Pound and Pumpkin, were getting on with their “Auntie Pie”. It came as a minor surprise to Dash to be reminded they would be starting kindergarten soon — the time, and the last year in particular, seemed to have flown by. Only Fluttershy seemed out-of-sorts; while she still joined in with the revelry, she stayed huddled close to Rainbow Dash, and several times made to ask her something, only to immediately clam up again.
As night set in and the café gradually emptied, the party wound down. While Dash, at her own insistence, paid the tab and the others were gathering their cloaks and umbrellas, Fluttershy trotted over and finally spoke up. “Have you decided where you’re going to live now? I mean, when you’re not touring.”
This gave Rainbow Dash pause. She’d been caught up in the tryouts, then went straight into training and hadn’t given it much thought. She had stayed a few days at a hotel in the city, then when training began she had moved into the dormitory on the training grounds. Most of the Wonderbolts had places of their own in Canterlot so she had the dorm to herself. It was small but comfortable enough, though hardly suitable for the long term. She’d known she would have to move out of her cloud-sculpted home over Ponyville eventually, but that had a stark finality to it and she’d put it to the back of her mind.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I guess I’ll start renting a place here in Canterlot and see how it goes.”
“But you’ll still visit us in Ponyville, won’t you?” There was a beseeching look in her eyes.
“Easy, Fluttershy! I’m not going anywhere just yet! I’ll be back in Ponyville next Monday anyway.”
“You’re sure you won’t join us at the castle?” Twilight called from the doorway. “The princess is letting us use one of the suites for the night.”
“Sorry guys, but I’d better get back to the dorm. Early start tomorrow.” She turned back to Fluttershy.
“You know you’re welcome to visit me anytime,” she said. “Well, the training grounds are supposed to be private — crew members and their family only, really — but I’ll talk to Spitfire and see if they can make an exception for you. How does that sound?”
“I’d like that,” said Fluttershy. “Take care, Rainbow Dash.” She nuzzled briefly at her friend’s neck before trotting back to join the others as they stepped out into the rain.
Dash stood befuddled at the counter, feeling strangely hollow. An otherwise lovely evening had ended on a jarring note, bringing up questions she hadn’t wanted to answer just yet. She had been ignoring the inevitable; an exciting new chapter in her life was opening, but this meant another had to close, whether she wanted it or not. There was a bitter irony to it — Fluttershy had been the one who’d finally convinced her to take her aspirations seriously, and now it meant they’d be apart.
She gave a deep, weary sigh, and as she turned to leave her eye fell on one of the few customers remaining in the crêperie. She had spotted this solitary pony earlier in the evening, seated at a corner table and mostly hidden behind a copy of the Canterlot Herald. Occasionally the stranger had rapped a pale yellow hoof on the table to demand a refill of her coffee, and Dash was sure she’d caught her staring at their party once or twice. Dash’s curiosity got the better of her and she craned her neck to see over the newspaper. Her eyes met those of another pegasus, a familiar face she couldn’t immediately place. Heavy-lidded magenta eyes gazed back from under the fringe of a tousled pastel-striped mane.
“Rainbow Dash, as I live and breathe!” the pegasus said, breaking into a broad smile.
“Skydancer?” said Dash. “I haven’t seen you in, what, it must be ten years! What the hay are you doing here? Last I heard you were pushing cumulus at the cloud factory!”
“Moved to Canterlot last year,” Skydancer replied. She gestured for Dash to join her at the table.
Dash hesitated. She knew Skydancer from school back in Cloudsdale, but not particularly well — more than acquaintances, but not quite friends. They had shared several classes and been on friendly terms, but they had different circles of friends and had never really clicked. At another time she would have been happy to stop and chat, but it was getting late and she was mindful of how early training started tomorrow. Even so, she reasoned, what were the chances of bumping into a link to her childhood in Cloudsdale, even a fairly tenuous one, here in the city? She glanced out of the window at the downpour and remembered she hadn’t brought anything to keep her dry. Surely a few minutes wouldn’t hurt...
“So...” said Dash, feeling a little awkward as she sat down again in the nearly deserted café, “how are things with you?”
“Not bad. Just keeping myself busy, y’know,” said Skydancer. “You’re doing well for yourself though, I hear.”
Dash was puzzled for a moment until Skydancer indicated a column in her newspaper. It was a tiny piece, just a few sentences about the Wonderbolts’ new recruit, sandwiched between the hoofball results and an advertisement for manecare products, but there it was in black and white.
“Glad to see somepony from our school finally hit the big time,” Skydancer went on. “Remember how coach Fireball used to say we’d never amount to anything?”
Dash chuckled. “He was such a jerk — he said that to everypony. Pssh, shows what he knows!”
“Hey, remember when everypony was saying he got Miss Honeycomb pregnant, then she left a month later?” said Skydancer in a theatrical whisper. “I used to see her around with the foal sometimes — he looks just like him!”
Dash snorted with laughter. “Oh, oh, remember when Windy Wisp tried to style her own mane for the ‘Enchantment Above the Clouds’ ball and ended up cutting most of it off? It took months to grow back!”
They both dissolved into gales of laughter. “Ah, happy times,” said Rainbow Dash, slightly wistfully.
“You visit Cloudsdale much?” asked Skydancer.
“I can’t seem to find the time any more. I still think about it a lot though. I mean, I love Ponyville, but you miss the little things, you know?”
“Ponyville? Aren’t you living here in Canterlot?”
Dash wrinkled her nose. “Well, I’m kinda between places right now. Floating free, I guess.” She rested her chin on a front hoof and stared out of the window.
“You know what I do when I miss Cloudsdale?” Skydancer reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a package wrapped in wax paper. She unwrapped it, revealing half a dozen small, golden brown cakes baked in the shape of a cloud and studded with tiny purple berries. “I tried making them myself, but you can’t get the mix right at this altitude. A baker I know in Cloudsdale makes up a batch for me every couple of months and sends them over. They’ve got real wild cloudberries in them. Want one?”
“Nimbus buns? Oh, I haven’t seen one of those in years!” Dash’s stomach called out to her noisily. She hadn’t eaten much all evening, just picking at her own crêpes and letting Pinkie Pie finish them off. While those tiny cakes were hardly enough to satisfy her hunger, there was a craving that reached beyond simple nourishment. They were a little taste of home.
“Go ahead,” said Skydancer.
The instant Dash placed the cake in her mouth, the sensations transported her. The sweetness of the rich, dark sugar reminded her of warm summer nights under a sky sprinkled with stars. The pastry began to crumble on her tongue, moist and soft like the feeling of scrunching one’s hooves into the city’s cloud fields. The taste of the syrup recalled how the cloud banks at sunset seemed to glow with a golden light from within. She squashed the cake against the roof of her mouth, releasing the tangy flavour of the berries, sharp and refreshing like a winter’s morning when the weather factories started pumping out the snow. She had eaten these simple little treats with hot cocoa on Hearth's Warming Eve, found them slipped into her bags as a surprise the first year she went away to summer flight camp, bought some with the first pay packet from her first job with Cloudsdale weather patrol. They were little baked punctuation marks that had given structure to her young life.
To her surprise and slight embarrassment, she found herself fighting back tears. She sniffed deeply, her breath shuddering as she tried to contain them.
“Yeah, they have that effect on me too,” said Skydancer, gently placing a hoof on Dash’s shoulder.
Dash turned away to quickly wipe her eyes. She swallowed the cake and let out a long-held gasp.
“The first time I remember eating one of these,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quavering, “was at a Wonderbolts show. I’d have only been four years old. I saw Spitfire perform, then went to get her autograph, and dad bought us all nimbus buns to eat while we waited. That was the day I knew I wanted to join the Wonderbolts.” She was amazed at how clear the memory suddenly seemed, every detail bright and well-defined as the day it happened. “You have no idea how much these things mean to me.”
Skydancer listened, a faint smile playing on her lips, as Dash enthusiastically recounted her lifelong fascination with the Wonderbolts, jumping from one story to another and beaming with delight. Details she had long forgotten were flooding back, a wellspring of inner joy bubbling over faster than she could convey in words.
“Hey, remember that time you badgered me into going to those after-school wing-ballet classes with you?” Dash said. “Boy, if I’d known back then what it took to be a Wonderbolt, I might’ve taken it a little more seriously.”
“I remember how much you hated it.” Skydancer said flatly.
“Yeah, I used to get so frustrated when I couldn’t get the moves right. I remember... oh...” Dash’s face fell. “I remember I called you a stupid girly mule-face and stomped all over the tutu you lent me. Uh, sorry about that...”
“Oh, don’t be silly. That was a long time ago. We were just foals.”
“Yeah... Say, did you ever make anything of that? I know you loved wing-ballet, and you were gonna go to dance school or something.”
At once something imperceptible about Skydancer shifted, and Dash noticed her heavy-lidded eyes were careworn, and her pale yellow coat drab and unkempt.
“No,” she replied. “It never really came together for me. Life got in the way, I guess.”
Rainbow Dash shuffled awkwardly. All the energy had fled the conversation, and her bragging about the Wonderbolts suddenly seemed crass and insensitive.
“Well...” she said, getting up from the table, “it’s getting kinda late, and I’ve gotta be up early, so I’d better be going. Nice to see you again, though. Uh, thanks for the nimbus bun...”
“Here, take the rest,” said Skydancer. She tossed the package to Dash, who stuffed it quickly into her saddlebag. “You’ll probably enjoy them more than me. Take care, Rainbow Dash.”
Dash smiled back weakly. She was beginning to wish she had just stayed at the dormitory and finished her manual. She’d upset Fluttershy, and now another old classmate — was becoming a Wonderbolt going to make anyone besides herself happy? She cast a final glance over her shoulder at the figure now sitting alone in the café and stepped out into the rain.
With a guttural snort, Rainbow Dash jolted out of the depths of far-too-little sleep. A restless night peppered with vivid and unsettling dreams had left her with a head that felt like it was packed with damp sand. She let out of a low groan and peeled up a reluctant eyelid. The small four-bed dormitory, empty save for Dash herself and the few possessions she had packed before coming to Canterlot, was lit by the brisk light of a clear dawn. She was about to roll over and sink back into a gentle doze when it struck her that it shouldn’t be light this early. The notion that Princess Celestia had for some reason decided to raise the sun in the middle of the night briefly crossed her mind, until common sense kicked in and she realised she had in fact overslept.
Five seconds later she was out of bed, hooves skittering on the wooden floor as she rushed to the window. Outside, several of her fellow Wonderbolts were already out on the training ground; she had maybe five minutes before all of them arrived and started wondering where the new recruit was. Then would come the accusations — she was lazy, she was undisciplined, she wasn’t taking her training seriously. She imagined Spitfire shouting at her — no, worse, quietly disappointed in her — and a sickly clot of guilt curdled in her stomach.
She darted to her locker, grabbed her flight suit and started struggling into it. There was no time for a shower, no time for grooming, no time even for breakfast; she had to be out there on time or she’d be letting the team down. As she flailed around trying to find legs and wing-holes that suddenly seemed to be in the wrong places, she bumped the saddlebag hanging in the locker and the package of nimbus buns from last night fell out, spilling one of the buns. She eyed it hungrily. As small as that bun was it was better than nothing to eat at all, and perhaps a taste of that sweet, nostalgic confection would calm her down. She grabbed the bun and sank her teeth into it.
At once the flavour flowed over her tongue, rich and soothing with a zesty bite from the cloudberries, refreshing yet mellow. She was reminded of cozy weekend mornings when her mother would bring a cup of tea to her bedside, of splashing carefree through Cloudsdale’s waterfalls in the humid peak of summer. Her drowsiness began to lift and her taut muscles unclench. She checked her appearance in the mirror — a little disheveled perhaps, but bright-eyed and energetic. “Bold heart, nimble wings,” she muttered to her reflection. She zipped up her flight suit, finished the last bite of the cake and walked calmly out of the dormitory, feeling relaxed and invigorated.
Despite the inauspicious start to the day, Dash settled into the morning’s training with ease. Once again she found herself enjoying the challenge, her teammates stretching her and she responding with newfound vigour and determination. Her manoeuvres were as clean and tight as they’d ever been, and she was growing increasingly confident of her grasp of formation flying, thanks in no small part to the attention and encouragement Spitfire was giving her.
A couple of hours into training, Spitfire called the team together to begin a run-through of the routine planned for their first display. It was one of their standards, a short routine that packed in a series of spectacular tricks, culminating in one of their most dramatic stunts, the Firefly Starburst. They had already covered most of the basic components of the display that morning, but the Starburst was a tricky and precise manoeuvre, requiring every pegasus in the formation to fly towards a single point in the sky, perform a sharp turn within touching distance of one another and swoop clear again. In an actual display they would fly with their smoke trails loaded with flashpaper chaff, and at the climax one member would set off a small powder charge that ignited the chaff to produce a spectacular fire trail behind each flier. Today they were going to rehearse the manoeuvre without the pyrotechnics, but it still required steady nerves and intense concentration.
Before the first run-through, Spitfire took Rainbow Dash aside.
“The trajectories are hard to visualise from the ground,” she said. “Dash, I want you to observe from directly above the crossover point so you can see how each member passes.”
Rainbow Dash nodded. She had seen the Firefly Starburst performed many times and it never ceased to impress her. The chance to watch it up close and understand how this complicated aerial dance fitted together was exciting.
The team took up their positions while Dash hovered alert and attentive overhead, then on a blast from Spitfire’s whistle they began. Nine brilliant blue streaks shot towards one another then, just as it seemed they were about to collide, each swung around one another in a tight orbit before flinging out in graceful arcs. But something was wrong: Lightning, who had exited from the top of the crossover closest to where Dash hovered, gave a ragged bellow of pain and began spiralling like a sycamore seed, his right wing hanging limp at his side.
“Dash!” yelled Spitfire. “Help him!”
A jolt of horror shot through Rainbow Dash at the sight of her stricken teammate. She lunged towards the tumbling pegasus, but a rising panic threatened to take hold of her wings. The sight of Lightning’s fiery mane and tail whipping back and forth as he tumbled earthwards filled her vision, urging her to screw up her eyes and block it out. She shook her head to try and drive away the deep and inexplicable fear that was suddenly choking her, fighting her, holding her back, and an unbidden howl of frustration escaped her throat.
Then in an instant it was over. Two of his teammates snatched Lightning out of his dive and gently ferried him to the ground. Dash circled them as they descended, trying to see if Lightning was okay. The shock and terror of a few moments ago had turned into a sickly shame at her own uselessness. Safe on the ground again, Dash found herself outside the circle of concerned teammates gathered around their fallen member. Already one of them had flown to fetch the team’s medic, a stern-looking unicorn who hurriedly pushed his way past to examine his patient.
Happy that her team member was now in good hooves, Spitfire stepped out of the circle to address the others.
“Alright everypony,” she said, “I’ll be accompanying Lightning to the hospital, so Soarin will be leading the rest of today’s training. Work on your solo manoeuvres and the smaller formations, and I’ll be back as soon as Lightning is comfortable.”
She led Dash aside and spoke to her gently. “You okay?”
Dash tried to find her voice, but could only summon a shaky nod.
“No, you’re not okay,” Spitfire continued. “Bit of a shock. That’s understandable, no amount of training can prepare you for that. He’s going to be fine. He dislocated his wing near the end of last season and it’s been a weak-point for him ever since. Damn fool hasn’t been doing the exercises the doc gave him, I’ll bet. The g-force in that turn just popped it right out again.” Her tone was curt, her diction clipped, a voice that maintained an outward professionalism yet, to someone who knew her, betrayed her distress. “Look, you’re in no fit state to carry on. Fly a few laps to cool down and take the rest of the day off.”
Dash’s pride briefly urged her to protest, but deep down she was relieved. The panic she had felt when she saw Lightning injured was alien and unsettling, and she needed some time to think about it. She flapped around a couple of half-hearted laps of the training ground and slunk quietly back into the dormitory.
Rainbow Dash’s afternoon was a sullen and dispiriting one. Puttering about in the dormitory with nothing to occupy her, she felt like a little foal being kept indoors with a case of the pony pox while her friends laughed and played outside. She brooded about her failure that morning, puzzled by the sudden bout of panic that had choked her; she had, after all, been through many more dangerous and frightening things, including an even more terrifying aerial rescue of no less than four ponies at once. Something about today’s incident sparked a deep fear, incomprehensible yet also strangely familiar.
Late in the afternoon Spitfire returned from the hospital and paid a visit, giving Dash a brief pep-talk in the vein she knew she responded well to, part reassurance, part encouragement. She avoided directly broaching the most obvious subject; with Lightning out of action, Dash was in the main squad with her first show just four days away. They both knew it perfectly well. Nevertheless, she had to discuss revisions to the routine for the show. Performing one of the Wonderbolts’ most dangerous stunts in a live show with a rookie member was unthinkable. Dash had anticipated the change, but it still made her feel like a dead weight dragging the rest of the team down.
As evening drew in, Dash felt the trials of the day catching up with her, a leaden weariness that made her wings ache and her eyelids droop. She flopped into bed soon after sunset, hoping to make up for the previous restless night, but in spite of her exhaustion she could not settle. Her mind continued to race, replaying the day’s events over and over, and after an hour of fruitless tossing and turning she finally threw off the rumpled bedcovers and got to her feet. She was faintly disgusted to notice the hair on the fetlock of one of her forelegs was wet where she had been absently chewing at it, a habit she thought she’d grown out of years ago.
As she paced about the darkened room, her eye was drawn to the corner of the wax paper packet of nimbus buns poking tantalisingly out from the bottom of her locker door. That was what she needed, she told herself, a little snack to calm her down. She opened the locker, took out a bun and brought it back to bed with her.
With time to relish it now, she drew out the experience, inhaling deeply the cake’s aromas: the smooth, creamy butter, the tart little cloudberries, a piquant hint of cinnamon. Already the frantic buzz of thoughts was slowing, and with the first bite they fizzled away leaving only a warm tranquility. She chewed slowly, savouring every crumb, the tension in her body dissolving and flowing away in the stream of fond memories the flavours brought. She closed her eyes as she swallowed the last morsel, and within moments she was asleep.
Soothing images from her life in Cloudsdale drifted through Dash’s dreams.
She was seventeen, at her high school graduation, trotting in line to receive her diploma. Her family was there in the audience, her father beaming with pride, her mother dabbing away tears of joy.
She was twelve, starting out at Junior Speedsters flight camp, showing off her moves to a gaggle of fellow campers, feeling so clever and grown-up when an impossibly cool older griffon said her performance was ‘pretty gnarly’.
She was five, watching a Wonderbolts show as a special birthday treat, gasping and cheering along with the crowd, her attention fixed on Spitfire and her stunning display of aerobatics. The climax of the show, the Firefly Starburst; the audience’s gasps turning to screams; a blue shape in freefall trailing bright flames; a little filly’s heart breaking. ‘Spitfire! Help her! Help her!’ A father’s strong legs holding her tight, a mother’s soft voice calming her, but tear-filled eyes seeing only her invincible hero ablaze.
“Spitfire!” Dash’s scream rang in the empty dormitory. There was a moment’s silence, then came muffled sobs in the dark.
Rainbow Dash went through her morning routine the same as ever, but today everything seemed flat and joyless. She slid wearily out of bed at sunrise but left the curtains closed. Her shower felt like an unwelcome rainstorm, her breakfast of oatmeal pancakes just a bland means of sustenance.
Last night’s dream had been the missing piece that completed the puzzle started the previous morning. An accident during the Firefly Starburst, the sight of her teammate plummeting out of control, even the colouration of his mane and tail, so similar to Spitfire’s, had all coincided to throw light onto that dim corner of her memories. Of course, she had never truly forgotten that day — the story was part of Wonderbolt lore now — but the years had softened the memory, rounded its edges and left it powerless. The dream had brought it all back, sharp and painful as the day it happened.
Spitfire, two years into her career with the Wonderbolts yet still the youngest member on the squad, had flown a flawless display until the finale. Then, at the crucial moment in the Firefly Starburst she hesitated for a fraction of a second, swung around too late and clipped her head on another member’s hoof, dazing herself. The pyrotechnics had gone off before she could recover, and she had come crashing down in flames.
Rainbow Dash gazed at her weary face in the mirror. ‘Bold Heart, Nimble Wings’; how hollow that sounded now. If even Spitfire, the boldest and nimblest flier she knew, could make a near-fatal mistake like that, how could she compare? What business did she have becoming a Wonderbolt if something as trivial as an unpleasant memory made her flinch? Her bottom lip began to tremble, but she pinched her mouth tight to stop it.
That’s enough, she told herself, this is not how a Wonderbolt behaves. A horrific accident like that might have ended another flier’s career. Spitfire had been in recovery for over a year, but she had come back stronger than ever. She had flown again with the same skill and grace that first won her a place on the team, she had spoken with courageous honesty about the accident and her recuperation, and within five years she had gone on to captain the Wonderbolts. That was why Rainbow Dash continued to admire her; Spitfire’s abilities were impressive, but it was her tenacity that was truly captivating.
That was all she needed, a reminder of why she sought to follow in Spitfire’s wingbeats. At once the forlorn expression on her face hardened into one of steely determination. She had a duty to the team and to herself, now more than ever. That meant taking her training all the more seriously. She pulled on her flight suit and strode briskly out onto the training grounds.
“Alright team,” said Spitfire, “today we’ll be running through the full rehearsal of the routine for Monday’s display. You all got the revised programme yesterday, so you should know the changes. Warm-up, ten minutes!”
As the other team members started their exercises, Dash noticed the muted, solemn atmosphere; Lightning’s accident had affected them all, and the morning briefing only highlighted his absence. Spitfire moved among them, guiding and encouraging as needed — here a quiet word with Rapidfire, there a simple compliment for Fleetfoot — and before long the mood began to pick up. She was a conductor in charge of her orchestra, setting the tempo, carefully shaping her ensemble to act as one. Finally, she approached Rainbow Dash.
“How are you holding up?” she said. “You still look tense. If you need—”
“I’m fine,” said Dash, her voice flat and impassive.
“Dash, I’ve known you for years, and I know this isn’t like you. You can tell me—“
“I said I’m fine,” she replied in the same even tone.
Spitfire gave her a pained look, a mixture of frustration and concern, before returning to her own warm-up.
The morning’s rehearsal was as gruelling as the toughest days Dash had put herself through during her own training. Even simple moves she usually performed without thinking now demanded precision and fierce concentration. When she thought a step in the routine was imperfect she insisted on repeating it. By midday her wings ached and her flight suit was damp with sweat despite the cool spring air. At lunch she sat alone and pored over her flight manuals, and in the afternoon she threw herself back into the rehearsal with renewed vigour. Nothing less than perfection would suffice. Her wings grew stiff with fatigue, she gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, but the harder she strove for that perfection the more she had to wrestle her body to comply. The easy grace with which she usually performed seemed to be slipping further from her grasp.
As the team went through their cool-down routine at end of the day’s training, Dash braced herself for a final lecture from Spitfire. The captain had tried to engage her several times during the day, and each time Dash had brushed her off. She wasn’t going to show how a mere unhappy memory had upset her, not when Spitfire herself had triumphed over so much worse. However, the day’s rigours had left her feeling brittle and agitated, and she wasn’t sure she could keep her frustration hidden much longer. The expected lecture never came. Spitfire looked right through her during debriefing, then abruptly left without another word.
Dash retired to the dormitory. For several minutes she paced back and forth, still twitching with feverish energy and wondering what to do with herself. She had summoned up all the boldness her heart could muster, and still it wasn’t enough. Was that what she had in store for herself, to push herself to her limits and still fall short, waiting for the day she crippled herself like Lightning or made a mistake like Spitfire?
In frustration she bucked a hind leg at her locker. The door jolted open and the packet of nimbus buns tumbled out, spilling the remaining cakes onto the floor. The sight of those baked treats made Dash’s mouth water. Maybe that was what she needed, she told herself, something to remind her why she was putting herself through this. Hungrily she scarfed down one of the buns, swallowing it almost too fast to enjoy the taste. At once the soreness in her muscles didn’t seem to matter; she remembered the same feeling from a year earlier, when she first started training in earnest, when nearly every day ended with her on the brink of exhaustion. Sheer determination had driven her then, a sense of duty almost as great as the one she felt to the Wonderbolts now.
With an expression of grim resolve on her face, she pulled on her goggles once again. Without the other Wonderbolts she would have to make do by practicing a solo routine, and the one she knew best was from her tryout. If she could perform it again as flawlessly as before, then she could rest easy knowing she hadn’t lost her touch. She glanced out of the window — she had maybe an hour of daylight left. She had to get it right.
Once she was certain the last of her teammates had left, she trotted back out onto the deserted training grounds. The sunset painted the cliffs a ruddy orange and threw spindly shadows of the flagpoles across the ground. Dash shivered momentarily, the cool of the approaching night chilling her where her flight suit was still damp with sweat. She took off, circling around the aerodrome and trying to assemble the routine in her head just as she had at the tryout last week. When she reached the starting position she drew a deep breath and held it, feeling her racing heart slowing.
She was about to begin when out of the corner of her eye she saw a shape moving below, a figure walking out of the aerodrome’s tunnel entrance, the setting sun stretching its shadow long and thin. For a moment she thought it was one of her teammates — perhaps, she realised with a jolt, Spitfire had come back and caught her — until she noticed it was giving her a friendly wave.
“Fluttershy?” Dash swooped down to where her friend was waiting. “W-what are you doing here?” she said.
Fluttershy scuffed a hoof in the dirt. “Um, you said it would be okay if I visited you here,” she replied. “I stayed in Canterlot an extra couple of days so I could come and see you. I tried to come by yesterday, but they wouldn't let me in. They said there'd been an accident.”
Dash gave an exasperated huff. She had barely an hour until it got dark, and here was Fluttershy wanting to make small-talk. “Look, I'd love to chat, but I've got a routine to practice. Just... just sit there and wait for me, okay?”. She flew back up to her starting position, muttering under her breath.
Again she tried to focus on the task, but there, lurking at the edge of her attention was Fluttershy, nagging at her like a pebble caught in her horseshoe. She swept into her first loop, but found herself drifting wide. She shook herself. Even a simple loop was giving her difficulty now! Frustrated, she circled around to try again, and once again she went wide. She swooped back down to Fluttershy.
“I can't concentrate with you watching me!" she said angrily. “Go and wait in the dorm and I'll be done in a while.”
“But...” Fluttershy started.
“I said get lost!”
Some dark space in Dash's mind suddenly lit up. She had said those words before, said them — no, screamed them — into Fluttershy's face. The shameful scene replayed itself in unforgiving clarity: last year's Wonderbolts tryouts; her best friend accompanying her for moral support; failing her routine; holding back tears of frustration as Fluttershy tried to comfort her; shoving her aside; regretting her outburst immediately but the damage already done.
Dash heaved a remorseful sob that made her whole body shudder. She staggered backwards trying to flee from the memory, but the baleful light cast on it grew and spread, revealing another half-forgotten sorrow, another shameful deed, one after another until they filled her head.
She was six again, back in school, with a group of friends who took it into their heads to torment a quiet, gawky filly in the year above. She was jeering and laughing along with them until the poor filly, eyes filled with tears, wet herself. The others laughed even harder, but Dash felt sick with guilt. She could have stopped them, but now an innocent pegasus was hurt and it was all her fault.
She was twelve, feelings befuddled by adolescent hormones, planting an awkward kiss on the lips of a classmate she had admired from afar. Then they had gone away and told everyone, and the next day the whole class was laughing and making kissy-faces at her. She was humiliated and heartbroken, and it was all her fault.
She was seventeen, her first week with the Cloudsdale weather patrol, getting yelled at by her supervisor for setting off a rainstorm too early. It was an honest mistake but she was still in trouble for it. Two days’ work for her team ruined, and it was all her fault.
She was nine, sent home from summer flight camp for getting into a fight that had left another pegasus with a broken nose. Her parents were so disappointed in her, despite her protestations that she was standing up for a friend against some bullies. But deep down she knew what started as honourable defence had gone too far, and it was all her fault.
“Rainbow Dash!” cried Fluttershy. “What’s wrong?”
Dash couldn’t hear her. Every misfortune life had visited upon her, every mistake she had made, every misdeed she had committed was laid bare. It yanked the breath from her lungs and blotted out sight and sense. Her legs collapsed beneath her and her wings beat feebly against the dusty ground.
“It’s all my fault!” she wept. “It’s all my fault!”
It was dark before Fluttershy could get much sense out of Rainbow Dash. She guided the inconsolable pegasus back to the dormitory, helped her out of her flight suit and sat her at the table, brewed a pot of tea and coaxed her to drink some. Glassy-eyed hysteria made way for ashamed silence, Dash refusing to look Fluttershy in the face, until at last she spoke up.
“I don’t deserve a friend as good as you,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“What makes you think that?” said Fluttershy.
“I’ve done... so many terrible things. I try to be good, but then I act selfish, I do stupid things, I hurt the ones I love...” Her voice was growing strident, but Fluttershy gently hushed her.
“Easy, now,” she said. “Tell me what happened out there.”
Rainbow Dash recounted how the torrent of unhappy memories overwhelmed her, how she felt she was to blame for even the smallest misfortune in her life. As Fluttershy listened, a realisation dawned. She pushed a plate towards Dash; on it sat the last two nimbus buns which she had picked up off the floor.
“Have you been eating these things?” she asked.
Dash nodded. “They reminded me of home,” she said. “It was nice remembering the good times whenever I was under pressure.”
“They’ve got wild cloudberries in them,” said Fluttershy. “The farm-grown berries bakers use are mild and just bring a lovely sense of comfort and relaxation, but the wild plants are far more potent. They’re sometimes used to treat amnesia — they force you to remember, for better or worse. Eat too many of them and eventually the memories are all you care about.”
Dash covered her mouth with a hoof. All the time she thought she had been indulging in a little harmless reminiscence she had also been gradually poisoning her own mind. Was that why Skydancer looked so haggard? Had she chosen the bittersweet comfort of nostalgia over the present?
She glared at the remaining nimbus buns. Suddenly they didn’t seem so appetizing. The berries shone under a sickly-sweet glaze like the eyes of dead fish staring out of a stodgy dough that sweated beads of syrup. With calm deliberation she crushed the remaining cakes into a sticky mess on the plate. Fluttershy made to give her foreleg a reassuring pat; Dash jolted at her touch, then relaxed again and laid a hoof on top of Fluttershy’s.
“But I still did all those terrible things,” she said, hanging her head.
“Everypony has done things they’re ashamed of,” said Fluttershy softly. “What matters is how they try to make up for it. You’ve tried so hard for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe you’ve forgotten how we met, when you and that group of bullies picked on me in school.”
Dash winced. Before today she remembered the incident only dimly, and shorn of any emotion — yes, she had been cruel, as kids sometimes are, but then she’d stopped hanging around with the other foals who started it, and that was the end of it. The cloudberries had peeled back that comfortable veil and laid everything bare. It was poor, undeserving Fluttershy she and that group had tormented, and she’d fashioned a convenient patch of self-deception to cover the guilt. The same sickness she had felt back then struck her once more, and her stomach lurched.
“I always remembered seeing a sad little filly sitting alone in the cafeteria and going over and sharing my lunch with her,” she said. “For years that was my earliest memory of you. I’d forgotten it was me who made you sad. I’m just...” She shook her head.
“And that’s what I meant by making up for it,” said Fluttershy. “You said sorry, and you gave me your nimbus bun — a lovely home-baked one with razzleberries in it — and most important of all you promised you wouldn’t let anypony else make fun of me.” She placed a hoof under Dash’s chin and gently lifted her head to meet her gaze. “You've kept that promise ever since. It doesn’t matter how we met, what’s important is why we remain friends.”
“Why are we still friends, Fluttershy?” said Dash. “We had such a fight last year after I failed my first tryout. I was so mean to you, then you flew home without me, and when I came to apologise you said...”
“I said you were so proud you thought you’d make it onto the Wonderbolts without even trying.” She felt a blush spreading across her cheeks, and brought her teacup up to her face to cover it. “That wasn’t very fair. I was upset, but I still shouldn’t have said that. You were trying to make amends and I wouldn’t let you.”
"No, you were right. I used to think they just wanted somepony who could do spectacular stunts and daring feats. ‘Bold heart, nimble wings’ — it doesn’t mean what I thought it did. My whole life I’d been going about it the wrong way. I was about ready to give up on the whole Wonderbolt thing, but then you changed my mind.”
“Me?” said Fluttershy.
“In a way,” Dash replied, grimacing slightly. “I wanted to prove you wrong. That was part of why I started taking my training seriously, anyway.”
Fluttershy nodded. “When I saw you actually doing it, I knew that was your way of making it up to me. So I made it up to you by supporting you in mine.”
Rainbow Dash closed her eyes in blissful remembrance. “You always set a place for me at dinner after a day’s training. I think I ate better that year than I had since I left Cloudsdale! And half the time I ended up falling asleep right there at the table.”
“I had to put a second bed in the cottage just so you’d have somewhere to sleep!” said Fluttershy, giggling.
“We’re a heck of a pair, aren’t we?” said Dash with a sigh. “I don’t know where I’d have been without you to keep my hooves on the ground.”
“And you’ve always been there to keep my wings in the sky,” said Fluttershy.
“But you must’ve known that helping me meant I’d have to leave eventually, right? You looked so sad at the crêperie when I told you I’d be living in Canterlot.”
Fluttershy swirled her teacup and gazed into the little whirlpool it created. “Yes, but I’d never stand in the way of your dream. I didn’t want to see you leave, but I’d hate it if you stayed just for my sake.”
Dash’s eyelids began to droop, and she stifled a great shuddering yawn. Fluttershy walked around to where Dash sat, spread a wing across her back and coaxed her to her feet. Tenderly she guided the exhausted pegasus to her bed, a deed she had performed so many times over the past year it had become almost like a dance.
“It’s been tougher than I ever imagined,” said Dash as Fluttershy drew the blanket over her. “Not just the training, but leaving everything behind. No more long naps in the clouds, no more hanging out together, no more time to visit Cloudsdale. Sometimes I think it’d be easier if things could go back to the way they were before.”
Fluttershy gasped. “You can’t mean that, surely? All your life you’ve dreamed of becoming a Wonderbolt, and you’re thinking of giving it up?”
“Look at what it’s done to me, Fluttershy,” said Dash, an exasperated tone in her voice. “I’ve been a Wonderbolt for four days and it’s almost destroyed me! I just... I don’t know what I want any more...” She scowled and started chewing at the hair on one of her fetlocks.
“Oh, Rainbow... you’re tired, you’re not thinking straight. Get some rest and we’ll talk again in the morning.”
Grumbling in protest, Dash turned on her side and within moments she was asleep. She dreamt of running and playing with her friends in the cloud fields of home once more.
Voices in hushed conversation drifted across the fuzzy edge between sleep and wakefulness, spilling into Dash’s dreams.
She was eighteen, and she had told her mother and father about her plans to move to Ponyville. It hadn’t gone down well. Talk had turned to argument, which had turned to tears, and now she was seething quietly in her room listening to the muffled conversation between her parents. Snippets of the discussion drifted up through the floorclouds: ‘...think she’s making a big mistake...’; ‘...allowed to make her own decisions...’; ‘...barely even look after herself...’. They had seen right through her excuses — her reason for leaving, or at least some part of it, was to find a low-pressure job away from the bustle of the city, a place and the free time to practice in peace and seclusion. The other part, which she hadn’t let on about, was that anchor of loyalty attached to her oldest, dearest friend who had moved to Ponyville the year before.
Eventually all fell quiet, then her parents appeared at her bedroom door. There was sadness in their bearing, but smiles of love and understanding on their faces. It struck her then how old they suddenly both seemed, her father with the first few grey hairs in his mane, her mother’s eyes bracketed by the beginnings of crow’s feet. She’d held those faces in her mind as changeless, but time bore everyone along and gently brought your perception with it, and when you stopped to look at how far it had carried you the shock could knock you for a loop.
And before she knew it she was leaving home amid hugs and kisses and promises to visit every month. Her father loaded the last of her bags into the waiting carriage and gave her a bracing hug. Her mother nuzzled tenderly at her neck, and Dash did the same in return, head pressed against that comforting warmth for the longest time. A new and exhilarating chapter of her life was beginning, but there was time enough to draw out the final lines of the old.
“Take care, my dear Rainbow Dash.”
“I will. I love you, mom.”
“Ah, you’re awake,” came a curt voice.
Dash’s eyes flickered open. “Mommy?” she said groggily.
It was still dark, the dormitory lit by a dim grey light that made the two figures in the room visible only as silhouettes. One was unmistakably Fluttershy, the other, Dash realised with a horrible chill, was Spitfire. The captain stepped forward, the slanted beam of moonlight cast through the window illuminating a face made drowsy and frazzled-looking by being woken far too early.
“Meet me outside in two minutes,” she said.
Dash’s head felt like it had been hollowed out. It was all over — Spitfire knew everything.
As the captain walked past her bed and out of the door, Dash felt the heat of a furious blush prickling on her cheeks. The shame at being found out and the thought of returning home in dishonour was given a final topping of embarrassment at the realisation she had just called her lifelong hero ‘Mommy’.
“Fluttershy,” she hissed, “why did you bring Spitfire here?”
“I couldn’t let you throw away your future over one little mistake," replied Fluttershy. “I had to help you somehow.”
“By telling her how badly I messed up? Of all the stupid—”
Fluttershy looked jittery and fragile, like she had been up all night, and she bristled at Dash’s outburst.
“It was Spitfire who brought me here, right after training yesterday,” she said hotly. “She didn’t know I was staying in Canterlot until Soarin mentioned I tried to come by on the day of the accident. You didn’t ask her if I could visit, like you promised you would.”
Dash was taken aback; it took a particularly hurtful kind of insult to make Fluttershy raise her voice. “I’ve just been—”
“She’s really worried about you,” Fluttershy continued, her voice softer now. “She came to me because you were acting so uptight. She thought I might be able to help you relax a little, maybe even open up about what was bothering you.” She grimaced at the memory of leading an hysterical and incoherent Rainbow Dash back to the dormitory earlier. “I don’t think this was what she had in mind.”
“How much did you tell her?” said Dash peevishly. “She didn’t have to hear about any of this! Oh, she’s gonna kick me off the team for sure...”
“Rainbow Dash, you know me better than that. And I think you know Spitfire better than that too. Now go on, she’s waiting for you.”
Dash slunk out of the dormitory, already playing out the inevitable humiliation in her head and certain that it would make all those unpleasant memories that had rushed back so clearly the previous evening (and which even now were sinking back into a comfortable haze) pale in comparison.
Outside Spitfire stood at the open edge of the aerodrome facing out over the plains below, stretching and flexing her wings as if warming up. Dash trotted hesitantly over. As she approached, she heard Spitfire draw a deep breath through her nose, hold it, and let it out in a brisk sigh.
“Lovely morning for a pre-dawn fight, isn’t it?” she said. She took off and circled above Dash’s head. It was a little odd to see her flying without her usual suit and goggles. “Well, are you going to join me or not?”
Perplexed, Dash flapped up alongside her and together they began to ascend.
The morning air was cool and still, the soft beating of their wings the only sounds. A full moon nestled on the western horizon, bathing the land in the last of its pallid light; in the east the warm colours of the gathering dawn were already soaking up into the deep blue sky. Below, the silvery shadows cast across the aerodrome threw its roughness into sharp relief, making visible the overgrown remnants of its former life: the paths and platforms which once thronged with airships and travellers, now just faint tracks under a flower-pocked meadow, scarred yet beautiful.
Faintly unnerved that Spitfire hadn’t said a word since they took off, Dash glanced over at her, expecting to see her barely holding back her anger and disappointment. Instead the captain was wearing a placid half-smile, gazing into the middle distance, breathing slowly and deeply. It was the same beatific expression Dash herself wore at her most carefree, when all that mattered was flight: just her alone with the sky.
At last, Spitfire spoke: “I guess you met Skydancer, then.”
“Y— What? How did you know?” said Dash.
Spitfire pursed her lips. “Not my finest hour, that one,” she said. “She was my pick at last year’s tryouts. Very skilled young pegasus, very graceful. At least she was until she lost herself to those damn cloudberries.”
Dash blushed. “Honestly, I didn’t know—”
“I know,” said Spitfire. “She was a lot like you, Dash; loving family, happy childhood, but — how do I put this delicately? — a little insecure. She wanted to cling onto those things, and I didn’t realise how badly until it was too late. Never even got to perform a show.” She shook her head.
“I’m not like her!” said Dash. “I wasn’t clinging to—” She stopped. She had been doing the same thing. Not just recently, but for a long time. Wasn’t that why she still lived in a cloud house high above Ponyville, just to be that little bit closer to home? Wasn’t that why she was reluctant to leave even that behind?
“I understand, Dash. It’s tempting to back down from a challenge and retreat into a comfortable life. To pursue your dreams you have to take risks, and there’s no guarantee you won’t get hurt. I know that all too well.”
She rolled over so she was flying upside-down. Across her belly ran a broad patch of coat where the grain of the hair was uneven and the colour paler, a legacy of the burns she suffered in her accident.
“Do you know what the hardest part of my recovery was?” she continued. “It wasn’t getting over the injuries, or finding the confidence to fly again. It was learning not to blame myself. I had no illusions about the accident — I knew it was my mistake that caused it — but you can dwell forever on what you could have done differently and it won’t change a thing. It comes down to a choice — you can let it break you...”
“...or you can let it make you bolder,” Dash finished. It was what Spitfire had told her after her first failed tryout. She had been too upset at the time to pay much attention, but it had sunk in nonetheless.
“Exactly,” said Spitfire, rolling upright again. “It’s hard to get past your own failures, the hardest thing in the world sometimes. Skydancer came as a real shock, I can tell you. I thought she was a safe pick — she was disciplined as well as skillful — but when I found her...” A hoarseness had crept into her voice, and she stifled a shudder. “When I found her in the dressing room one night after rehearsals, strung out on cloudberries, laughing so hard she could barely even breathe, well, I’d never felt so guilty in all my life. It’s one thing to come to terms with a mistake that harms no-one but yourself, but when you think you’ve allowed someone else to come to harm...”
Spitfire closed her eyes for a moment, and that peaceful expression returned to her face. Beads of dew had started to gather on her hair, the silvery sheen on her yellow coat making it appear she was bathing in the watery pre-dawn light. When she opened her eyes again, tiny droplets flicked from her eyelashes.
“I still wonder if I could have done more to help her, or spotted something was wrong sooner,” she continued, “but ultimately it was Skydancer’s mistake. She couldn’t get past that, and though I tried to convince her to stay with the team, I think it broke her. Damn near broke me, too. For a while I considered stepping down as captain, but I’d rather meet regret head-on than let regret find me.”
Dash nodded slowly. The picture of Spitfire she carried around in her head was shifting again. The invincible hero of her childhood had become the brave idol of her youth, who had turned into the respected role model of her adulthood; now she was seeing deeper into her and finding her scarred and flawed and fragile as anyone else, but stronger and wiser than she ever knew.
And she was right: no matter how cautious you were, you would still get hurt someday, whether by your own foolishness, by others, or by ill fortune. It was an unchangeable ingredient in life’s recipe — you could bake it with all the sweetness as you could muster, but it would still be sprinkled with bitter little berries, and you had to swallow them all the same.
“Do you know why I picked you this year?” Spitfire continued. “I could have backed down after my failure with Skydancer and gone with another safe pick, somepony who’d be easy to train, but I picked you. You’re a challenge, Rainbow Dash. You’ve got raw ability to spare, and the determination to do something with it — your progress since last year is proof of that — but you still need a firm hoof to guide you. I hope to be that hoof.”
Dash wrinkled her brow. She had set out on this flight expecting it to be her last as a Wonderbolt, and being told Skydancer had brought the same fate upon herself just seemed like a cruel preamble to her own dismissal. Yet Spitfire wasn’t angry or disappointed; if anything it seemed the idea of dropping Dash from the team hadn’t even crossed her mind. This was like listening to one of her pep-talks, only instead of simple encouragement there was sincere and disarming honesty, and perhaps just a hint of atonement.
“I’m... I’m not off the team then?” Dash said at last.
Spitfire gave a hearty laugh. “Don’t be silly! If I threw somepony out for making a little mistake we wouldn’t have a team left!” She caught Dash’s slightly hurt expression and cleared her throat. “Skydancer couldn’t live with the shame. To my knowledge she’s still losing herself in memories rather than facing up to herself. I know she duped you into trying cloudberries, but you have to ask yourself why you kept going back to them.”
Dash flew on in silence for a moment. Far below her the city of Canterlot was waking, tiny figures moving along the streets as mailponies, lamplighters, bakers and other early-risers began their day. A city full of lives, every one of them with their own struggles and self-doubts, sometimes falling before them, sometimes soaring above them, sometimes just pushing on regardless. She looked over at Spitfire, whom she now recognised was one of those who had soared, and felt the blossoming of a new trust and respect for her.
“It’s hard for me to admit this,” said Dash, “but... I was scared. I was scared I’d never be able to live up to expectations: mine, yours, my friends and family’s. I spent my whole life dreaming of this and not really taking it seriously, then suddenly I had to grow up. It seemed easier to go back. That way I’d never have to disappoint anyone.”
Dawn broke, the sun spilling over the horizon like golden syrup. Dash closed her eyes, letting those first rays of sunlight bathe her face.
“No, I won’t quit. I owe it to you, and to Fluttershy, to all my friends and family who’ve brought me this far. And I owe it to myself.”
The celebrations for the Spring Has Sprung festival in Ponyville were in full swing. The trees were festooned with delicate blossoms and strung with bright ribbons. On the village green groups of ponies had laid out blankets for the first picnics of the year, and foals raced among them playing, chasing one another, flying kites. There was an added spark of excitement in the air; this year the Wonderbolts were performing, and among them was a pegasus that Ponyville counted, in spirit at least, as one of their their own.
On a cloud above the festivities, the Wonderbolts were warming up for the show.
“Thirty seconds, everypony!” said Spitfire, walking among her team. She approached Rainbow Dash. “All set?”
Dash nodded stiffly.
“You’ll do fine,” said Fluttershy, straightening the hood of Dash’s flight suit. Guests weren’t usually allowed backstage before a show, but Spitfire had made a special exception.
“Thanks, Fluttershy,” said Dash, relaxing a little. She drew a deep breath, holding in her mind the serenity she found in little things: the rush of wind through her feathers; the sound of rain and the tingle of a thunderstorm; the scent of a parent’s embrace; the ache of muscles in joyous exertion; the company of a trusted friend; the taste of home.
Below, the mayor of Ponyville was wrapping up her speech. A ripple of polite applause drifted up on the breeze.
“Positions!” said Spitfire. The team lined up at the edge of the cloud, Dash standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her idols, proud and confident. She glanced backwards and gave Fluttershy a wink.
“Go!” came Spitfire’s call.
Dash sprang forward and swooped out of the blue sky to a great cheer from the crowd. Bold heart and nimble wings had brought her so very far.
